


2002

by pinkgrapefruit



Series: workplace romance [5]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Workplace Romance, contains a veritable amount of slow dancing, musician Trixie, vinyl store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit
Summary: trixie plays guitar, katya is charming and also sells records.[or, boston, no. 4]
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Series: workplace romance [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464601
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49





	2002

When you run a record store in the age of CDs you get the same customers. They become routine, like clockwork - the same way you open at 11 am and shut at 9 pm and drink your coffee black and your whisky on the rocks. It’s not that Katya disliked the routine - quite the opposite in fact, she just didn’t like that she, her job and her business had all become rather predictable.

They scraped by on open mic nights and the sheet music stand and the vintage guitars that hummed in a way that delighted Katya to no end. No, she did not hate the routine. 

This does not, however, mean she wasn’t incredibly excited to see a new girl peering through the window as she opened one morning. She was blonde, tall and held a hardshell guitar case in one hand as her breath clouded the window. 

Katya pulls the door open with a loud squeak as it pushes her homemade felt doorstop back with it. Holding the doorframe she flings her head round the door in time to collide with the blonde’s freckled face. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” comes a muffled twang. Katya pulls herself back into the shop and lets go of the door frame, stepping out this time and coming face to face with the girl she just assaulted. She smiles, half apologetic half reassuring.

“It’s my fault, come in,” She responds, guiding the stranger into the store and watching as she spins around in awe. Katya loves music, loves the shop - she’s glad someone else does too.

“I’m Trixie,” The stranger announces, hand out to shake but Katya’s always been a hugger and has no plans to stop now. 

“Katya, what brings you to my shop?”

Trixie sets her guitar down gently against one of the sheet music cabinets and tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’m a singer,” she states, softly, “I play the guitar and my new EP just came out. I really want it on vinyl.” Katya feels a grin spread across her face.

“I’ll have to check my newest delivery for you.” She hurries into the stockroom, the light flickering a few times before it holds. Trixie hears a couple of loud noises and a few muffled curse words before the woman comes back through the door - shutting it with her heel. Katya looks a little defeated. “I promise I’ll order it in for you,” She says without quite saying she doesn’t have it because she has a funny feeling that if she sees the full weight of disappointment pulling on Trixie’s features she’ll be on a wild goose chase around Boston to find a copy. “Come back soon?”

Trixie smiles brightly and nods. “Definitely.”

*

Katya likes her routine but maybe she sort of likes the chaotic schedule of Trixie’s visits. The woman sneaks by whenever she gets chance whether it’s to grab a coffee at 8 am before a radio gig or at 8 pm before hitting the stage at a bar. 

“What brought you to music?” Asks Katya, entranced with the way Trixie’s hair tumbles from her shoulder like the vines of the strawberry plant on her fire-escape.

“I was a journalist for a while - a feminist publication trying to overhaul the patriarchy,” Trixie responds, fingers leafing through Joni Mitchell records. “I started reporting music, Dolly Parton, to be exact, and ended up here.” She chuckles, tilting her head towards Katya who can suddenly see the resemblance to Trixie’s obvious idols.

“How very lesbian of you.” She freezes after she says it - missing the way Trixie’s lips quirk up into a smile. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to overst- “ Katya scrambles, trying to cover her tracks, smooth the wrinkles.

“You’re right. Very gay.” 

Katya is pretty sure she could get high off Trixie’s smile.

*

“What’s your favourite coffee?”

“Black.”

“Like your soul.”

“How very rude my dear Tracey.”

*

One morning, at 11 am on the dot, Trixie skids into the shop - face red and breath heavy. “Katya, Katya,” She calls through the shop and the woman’s head pops up from behind a row of jazz sheets. 

“Yes my dear,” replies Katya, trying to keep her face neutral but failing immediately. SHe’s smiling by the end of the response.

“RUPAUL WANTS TO SIGN ME!” She screams at the top of her lungs, awakening the ginger tabby cat that snoozes on a box labelled ‘for HR’. Katya runs towards her, straight down the middle aisle of records and pushes Trixie back into the door frame. She takes her face in both hands, palms heated by the blush spreading under her freckles. 

“I am so proud of you,” She says with one hundred percent sincerity. “You deserve this.”

Katya then licks Trixie’s nose. Trixie pushes her away immediately.

“I’ve got some other good news you know,” Katya tacks on with a smile, the other woman practically vibrating with happiness. “Guess what’s in my car.” She grabs the car keys off the counter and Trixies nearest free hand and drags them both out the door and across the street.

“Oooh, Pontiac… Trans Am?” Exclaims Trixie once she’s free to move on her own, Katya busy unlocking the boot and rifling through several boxes of records.

“How did you know?” She asks, poking her head up for a second, eyebrow raised.

Trixie laughs at the expression, hand trailing along the exterior of the burnt orange vehicle. “My grandpa taught me to fix them when I was young.”

“Well, she’s my phoenix, my firebird.”There’s a triumphant sound as Katya holds up a cellophane-wrapped record. Trixie whoops in response. 

“You’re my hero,” She giggles, feigning swooning as she receives the record. She holds it gently in her hands, turning it over and over and over to see every inch of the cover.

“Do you want to play it?” Asks Katya, cautiously - knowing it might be too sacred.

“Lead the way.”

*

The record whirrs for a second before coming to life, the glittery pink of the vinyl a dizzying starscape on the turntable. Katya reads the back of the packet and hums in satisfaction as ‘Hello, Goodbye, Hello’ crackles to life. 

Trixie holds out her hands to dance, Katya takes them.

They never stop slow-dancing.

**Author's Note:**

> consider a comment - it means the world.
> 
> ALSO I AM OPEN TO TIME PERIODS AND SITUATIONS!


End file.
